This Desert Life: Helen Baugh's story (part II)

Thursday

Nov 30, 2017 at 12:38 PMNov 30, 2017 at 12:38 PM

Matthew Cabe Staff Writer @DP_MatthewCabe

Here’s the second part of the short story written by Apple Valley resident Helen Baugh. It originally ran in the Victor Press’ “Fiction Corner” on Nov. 20, 1958. Read the first part here. Read more about Mrs. Baugh and her husband, Leo, here.

“A girl named Jolynn” (continued)

The bell jarred sharply in the quiet of his office that day just 20 years ago. A day warm and mellow and alive with springy smells at seven in the morning. A day that called for open windows before noon. A quiet, peaceful day in which he plowed through a lot of work. He lifted the receiver leisurely.

“Jim — Jim — She’s gone! She’s just GONE!”

The loudness of Tillie’s word echoed through the stillness of the room. James had to hold the receiver away.

“I’ll be right there. But for heaven’s sake get hold of yourself. Shouting won’t help.” His legs wabbled with the first few steps. The door knob evaded his hand. “Children often wander away,” he told himself. “We’ll find her right in the neighborhood.”

His foot was tromping on the gas, he eased it up. “Tillie shouldn’t get so upset. Surely she hadn’t looked hard enough.”

Questions

Together they looked everywhere within reason. Then the police were there, searching, asking questions. Tillie had finished the washing and while the baby was napping had gone into the yard to hang the clothes. No, she hadn’t locked the door. In this neighborhood no one did. Not in the daytime.

No, she hadn’t heard anything unusual. She’d just come in from the yard and worked in the kitchen. No, she hadn’t seen anyone while she was in the yard. Yes, the front door was hidden from view from the lines.

All at once she had realized the baby was sleeping longer than usual, went to see about her. The crib was empty. The child often climbed out of the crib. “She’s almost three...”

“But she could never have opened the door.” Tillie was so tired. The questioning went on and on. They looked. They talked to everyone. Each clue ended in nothing.

There hadn’t been any more children for them. Just long, empty days of waiting. Years of hoping. Praying. Searching every childish face. Somewhere was their daughter alive? Did she perhaps have a child of her own like Tim there? The little boy was waving goodbye to his dad. “Southpaw,” thought Jim.

“Mr. Hudson.”

Jim looked up with a start.

“Do you mind letting Tim take care you today?” George was asking it politely, already unbuttoning his white coat. He patted his cheek. “Dentist today.”

“No, of course not.” James Hudson did mind though. Tim was young, happy, talkative. James Hudson was not fond of young, happy men today. Nor did he want small talk.

James settled into the chair. “Hair cut. Shave. No clippers and the same lines please. George has done me for years.” It was a curt, flat statement.

“Yes Sir.” Tim let that be all. James Hudson slipped back into his reminiscence.

A Little Girl

The chair had been tipped back, lather smeared over his face. The sound of the razor slapping a smooth rhythm against strop ceased. He found himself listening to Tim.

“Boy, this last month of waiting is the hardest. You know, nervous, hoping everything will be OK. It’s not as bad as with Timmy though.”

He laughed. “The first, well! We’d both like a girl this time. Redhead just like my wife. I’ve already named her too.”

The razor was moving smoothly over James’ cheek. Tim went on. “It’s funny about names. They need to be right for the person. Take my wife. She never would answer to Edith. Her real folks died, or so we guess. Anyway her foster parents were kind of vague about them.”

They, the foster ones, just wandered around Europe. Wonderful to Edith. Never got around to telling her who she really was. Then they both got killed.

“She kept telling everyone Edith was not her real name. Then, when we went to get married, right out of a clear sky she said ‘My name is Jolynn — my real name. I know it is.’”

James Hudson’s eyes flew open. There were tight muscles around his mouth. He couldn’t say anything. His voice was caught somewhere below his Adam’s apple.

Tim went on. From then on she’s been Jolynn, kind of unofficially. Insists she remembered it suddenly and surely, along with pink walls and someone named Tillie. It’s an unusual name and right for her.

“If we have a girl, we’re going to call her Jolynn. Make it official this time. Know what I mean?”

[End of part II]

Matthew Cabe can be reached at MCabe@VVDailyPress.com or at 760-951-6254. Follow him on Twitter @DP_MatthewCabe.

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